


Londonium Chrysalis

by Olivia_ES



Series: An Equal to Converse With [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game), Gotham (TV), The Batman (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-12-16 17:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21040034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olivia_ES/pseuds/Olivia_ES
Summary: Ed Nygma has graduated from college and moved to Londonium to accept a position as a research assistant at Wayne Enterprise's new UK division. His new job includes new coworkers: Lucius Fox and Isabella Flynn.Oswald Cobblepot is looking to break into the criminal underworld and is cutting his teeth in Londonium to build his skill-set before returning to Gotham.When chance reunites the two, they have to figure out how to balance their friendship with their new careers.





	1. Apartment Hunting

Ed Nygma shivered and pulled his tartan coat closer around himself as he hurried down a dark street in one of the more rundown neighborhoods of Londinium. It was his first day in the city and he had scheduled several apartment visits. Even with his expected boost in salary, this was the only neighborhood inside the city limits he could afford. So far, he’d seen two apartments and the conditions hadn’t been too bad, he’d lived in worse during the summer before college. But the local crime rates were a bit daunting. Fortunately, he’d set up some visits for rentals outside the city limits as well. Although regular commute via public transportation added to the cost. If only he could find a roommate. But the roommate-seeking adverts he’d responded to had all ended with the poster choosing a different applicant. He sighed as he spotted the grey building, almost brutalist in its architecture, that was his destination. He pulled the paper he’d written directions on out of his pocket and rang the apartment number. A crackly voice strained out of the speaker. 

“Yes? Hello? Who is this?” The voice was wispy and wavery. Ed leaned in close to the microphone in case the quality was equally poor on the other end.  
“Hi. Mrs. Lacey? This is Ed Nygma. I’m here about the apartment?” The voice let out a weird laugh.  
“Oh… Heh. Right…” Edward tilted his ear towards the speaker so he could hear the woman’s words a bit more clearly. “Listen, now _really_ isn’t the best time for me. Could we reschedule?”

“But we made this appointment weeks ago,” Ed said.

“Yes, but… something… came up.” The voice replied.

“I understand. But I’m only in town tonight.” Ed sighed in resignation. It wasn’t a huge loss. There were other apartments. “If you really have to cancel, it will have to be permanently.”

“No!” Ed jumped at the sudden increase in volume. “No. Don’t go. We can meet. It will just have to be quick.” 

“Okay.” The buzzer sounded and Ed entered the building. He looked around the minuscule shabby entryway for a minute before flustered-looking woman hurried down the stairs. Her hair didn’t look brushed and she appeared to be wearing pajamas beneath a large unbuttoned brown trench coat. 

“Mr. Nygma. I apologize. I’m a bit of a mess today. Let me take you up to see the room.” She scurried back up the stairs. Ed took a moment to recover from the psychological whiplash of the past few minutes. Then he followed her, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up. She led him to a small, shabby room on the second floor. It was a single room with a fold-out couch and tiny dresser on the far end. A combination minifridge, sink, and two-burner stove took up most of the rest of the space. Despite being on the second floor, the window had bars on it. 

“Here we are. The bathroom is down the hall. The whole floor shares it, but I split the floors by gender. So, you don’t have to worry about your modesty.” Ed nodded in acknowledgment. It was pretty in-line with what he’d seen already. “So. What do you think?” Ed turned towards Mrs. Lacey. Jumping a little when he found her standing right next to his shoulder, their faces inches apart. 

“Um.” He took a step back. “It’s… nice. I have a couple of other places outside the city to look at tomorrow. So, I’ll let you know if I’m still interested by tomorrow night.” She nodded rapidly. Her gaze flitted to glance somewhere high on the wall behind him. “Do you have anything more you want to know about me? When will I know if I’m still in the running?” 

“Oh, I think you’ve told me all I need to know during our correspondence. There are a few other nice gentlemen that have shown some interest. But at this point, it goes to whoever can commit first. And pay their first-and-last as well as the security deposit.” 

“Yeah, about that. I have enough saved to cover the first-and-last. But not the security deposit.” Her mouth pinched and she glared at him.

“Mr. Nygma. I made it very clear what the requirements were.” 

“I know, I know. But I’m moving here for a job, and it pays pretty well. I’ll be able to pay once I get my first paycheck. I’ll pay it along with the second month’s rent.” She continued to glare at him. “And the lease is six months, so it’s not like I could get away with breaking something within the first month. Not that I would break anything. Because I wouldn’t.” Her eyes shifted to look behind him again. “I mean obviously, I’m not clairvoyant. Perhaps some unusual circumstances could cause me to do something unpredictable in the future. But it is highly improbable.” Nothing he said seemed to improve her mood. In fact, her expression grew stormier the longer he talked. Ed took a breath to calm down. This was only one apartment. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’ll just go.” He turned to go but she grabbed his arm. 

“Wait, maybe we can work something out.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “Could you pay the first-and-last ahead of time? I know you said you had other places to look at, but if you want this one…” She stared into his eyes intently. “You pay one part early, I let you pay the other part late?” Before Ed could answer there was a loud crash from downstairs. 

“Mrs. Lacey?” A low, rough voice boomed from downstairs. She froze, hand clenching tight where she still held onto Ed’s arm. “You weren’t answering, and the door was locked – not great manners when you’re expecting company – so I decided to invite myself in.” She released Ed’s arm and sprinted past him down the stairs. 

“Mr. Vasquez! I’m so sorry. Please…” Her voice faded as she descended to the floor below. Ed stood alone in the apartment for a moment. Part of him felt an urge to hide up here. But he also wanted to get out of this place. He quietly followed Mrs. Lacey’s path down towards the first floor. As he drew nearer her voice became audible again. “I’ll have the rest of the money soon. Just give me a few more weeks.”

“A few weeks? We’ve already _given_ you a few more weeks. Mr. Nando has bills to pay too, you know.” Ed reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Mrs. Lacey on her knees in front of a man in a black leather jacket. He couldn’t see her face, but the sounds of her sniffing made him think she was crying. 

“I’ll be getting another renter soon. Once they start paying me, I can pay you.”

“I don’t think you understand the urgency of the situation,” The man took a knife out of his coat, “Mr. Nando needs the money now.” Ed suddenly realized something was very wrong. He looked towards the exit and saw the door was torn off its hinges. Should he make a break for it? He felt very out of his depth. But it also felt wrong to leave Mrs. Lacey in dangerous circumstances. His mind was made up for him when the man noticed him. “Hey, who’s your friend here?” He marched over to Ed. He wasn’t quite as tall as Ed, but he was a lot broader. Mrs. Lacey followed his moment, tearstains now clearly visible on her cheeks. 

“Oh, he’s not a friend, exactly.” 

“We don’t even really know each other,” Ed said. The man looked back and forth between them slowly. Then stared Ed in the eye for an uncomfortably long time. 

“You’re here about the apartment, aren’t ya mate?” Ed didn’t know what to say. He was afraid to move. The man grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him across the room to shove him against the wall next to the gaping doorway. “Well, why don’t I just take the money off you, huh?” A spike of panic finally loosened Ed’s tongue. 

“I don’t- Please, I don’t-" 

“Shut it.” The man began pawing through his pockets. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, then his money belt from beneath the waist of his pants. Ed tried to push him off but it was like trying to shove a truck. He scrabbled to try and poke him in the eye. With a huff of annoyance, he spun Ed around, twisting his left arm behind his back and shoved him face-first into the wall. Ed turned his head to the left so that his right cheek was against the wall to try and mitigate the damage to his face and glasses. He felt the man move to remove the money belt when a voice rang out from the doorway to his right.

“Mr. Vasquez. We had heard rumors that the Low Boyz were trying to extract protection money from our people, but I had hoped they would prove false. You have greatly disappointed me.” Ed felt a chill up the back of his neck, but not necessarily in an unpleasant way. The voice was masculine and spoke with an accent like one might hear narrating a BBC documentary. The voice sounded very familiar. The accent did not. 

“You work for Vale? Shove off.” The man’s voice was a bit higher and quieter than before. “This was Low Boyz territory when your boss was in Year One!”

“Perhaps, but it belongs to the Vale family now.” The voice was hard to orient with his head pressed against the wall. But it seemed to emanate from pretty low down. “We don’t like foreigners collecting taxes from our people. I think it’s time to teach you Low Boyz a lesson about modern history.” The man let out a howl and released Ed. As he slumped to the ground, Ed saw a knife sticking out of Mr. Vasquez’s leg. Piercing the soft inside of his knee. 

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Mr. Vasquez dove towards his newly arrived rival. Ed saw he was an extremely short man, well under 5 feet tall, dressed in a well-cut suit with a pointy mask. He neatly side-stepped the man’s lunge and cracked him over the head with an umbrella he was holding. 

“My mother is nothing of the sort.” Mr. Vasquez slumped to the ground for only a moment, but it was long enough for the man to retrieve his knife from his leg. As Mr. Vasquez tried to rise and grab for him again, the man jabbed him in the inner thigh of his other leg. The small man then retreated outside the range of the grasping hands. His movements were smooth and confident, but his gait had a bit of a wobble to it. Mr. Vasquez tried to stand up, only for the man to pounce forward and stab upward into his armpit while shoving him backward. It was enough to send him crashing back to the floor. The stranger retreated quickly. He was closer to Ed now, and Ed could see him a little more clearly. His mask reminded Ed of a bird. Or perhaps a stylized take on those worn by plague doctors in centuries past. Sleek and long. It covered his entire face with black mesh for eye holes. He continued to wear Mr. Vasquez down with small jabs, whacks, and shoves. But his arms were very short, so he had to step in very close to use the knife. Eventually, Mr. Vasquez was able to put his greater size to use and landed a punch that sent the other man tumbling down. Still kneeling, he smacked the man’s knife out of his hand and sent it sliding across the floor where it came to rest a few feet from Edward. The man tried to repel him with some well-placed hits with his umbrella, but Mr. Vasquez drew a gun and shot him in the shoulder. He attempted to scramble away but Mr. Vasquez grabbed his leg and yanked him back towards him. As he was pulled along the floor he looked up towards his knife. 

“Ed?” Ed didn’t know how this man knew his name but the utterance of it broke him from his bystander stupor and he kicked the knife. It skidded to the man, who grabbed it.

“My name’s Emmanuel, you stupid midget!” Mr. Vasquez yelled.

“I’m a dwarf, you imbecile.” The man twisted in Emmanuel ’s grasp and slashed his neck. It was a shallow cut on the left side, but he dropped his gun in order to clutch at the gash and gave the man enough time to pull a small bottle of drain cleaner out of his pocket.

“This will remind you who’s in charge of this neighborhood.” He said as he poured the liquid over Mr. Vasquez’s face. Mr. Vasquez screamed in agony and crawled out the door, presumably to search for water to soothe his burns. The man slumped to the floor, clutching his wounded shoulder. Ed shakily crawled over and tied to assess the damage done by the bullet. He could see blood seeping through a hole in the back of the man’s suit. An exit wound. At least the bullet didn’t need to be dug out. The man startled as Ed touched his arm, turning to look at him.

“Ed? How- What are you doing here.” The man’s accent was gone, and Edward was no longer able to ignore the obvious truth of his identity.

“Oswald?”


	2. A Tiny Voyage and an Epic Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed helps Oswald get home and tends to his wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh my god they [are] roommates!"
> 
> Sorry, this took so long, but I've acquired a beta and needed a few days to communicate back and forth. Now I've re-edited the first chapter a little in line with their feedback and hopefully will have fewer grammatical errors going forward.

Since he’d come to Londonium, Oswald’s tolerance for pain had grown exponentially. Working his way into the Vale crime family had involved countless stabbings, punches, kicks, and clubbings. But a bullet through the shoulder was a new level of agony. So much so in fact, that he’d wondered if the familiarity he saw in the figure of the man Mr. Vasquez had been accosting was merely a pain-induced illusion. However, once Vazquez fled and the man was kneeling beside him, touching his wounded right arm, he was able to take another look. The mousy brunette hair and spectacled cognac eyes were unmistakable even if the jawline was stronger and the cheekbones sharper. And once he spoke, all doubt was removed.

“Oswald?” Ed Nygma leaned over him, hands fumbling uselessly over his lapels. 

“Ed you’re…” Oswald’s head felt hazy, his vision was starting to blur slightly around the edges, “…you’re grown up.” Ed stared at him another moment then leaned back a few inches, shaking his head and closing his eyes. He reached his fingers under his glasses to rub his sealed lids before returning his focus to Oswald’s shoulder.

“You need medical care.” 

“No hospitals! Do not take me to a hospital, Ed. I swear to God-”

“Then where should I take you? I don’t have anything to take care of you with here.” He turned towards the wispy woman still cowering in the corner. “Mrs. Lacey, do you have a first aid kit we could use?” She didn’t move from where she sat, but she raised an arm to gesture to some nearby cabinets. 

“My flat… has some supplies in it...” Oswald mumbled. Speaking was difficult. Somewhere, a part of him was panicked about that. Language was a skill he’d always prided himself in. Ed stood up and walked over to the cabinets Mrs. Lacey had pointed to. 

“That’s good, but you need some basic attention now.” He dug through the cluttered shelves of one cabinet then moved to the one beside it. “Where’s your apartment?” Ed pulled out a small blue plastic container with a cross made out of red tape. Oswald slowly recited his address, pausing occasionally to take deep breaths. Talking should not be this exhausting. Meanwhile, Ed eased his arm out of the sleeve of his jacket and used some small scissors he must have gotten from the kit to cut a large hole in the shoulder of his shirt. Ed lifted him up into a sitting position so that his left side was leaning against Ed’s chest, then peered over Oswald’s head as he dabbed some liquid on the edges of both ends of the hole that added a piercing stinging to the pain he already felt. Then he began to bandage the wound. His long arms wrapped around Oswald’s small body to loop the fabric around Oswald’s shoulder, gently holding Oswald’s arm aloft so it didn’t get in the way. It was almost like a hug. It had been so very long since Oswald had been hugged. So long since anyone had touched him gently. Oswald let his eyes slide closed.

When he wrenched them open again, he was startled to find himself outside. 

“Oswald? I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to get to the address you gave me from here.” Ed’s face was still above him and his left side was still pressed tight against Ed’s chest. But instead of the solidity of a floor beneath him he only felt two arms, one beneath his knees and the other under his back. “Can you direct me?” Oswald craned his neck around and saw they were beside the street signs of an intersection. It took a minute for Oswald to read the road names upside-down, but he was soon able to orient them in his mind. He lifted his left hand to weakly gesture down one street. 

“Walk that way… You’ll pass two roundabouts… turn left at the third… walk until you hit Grundy Street… Number 805... It will be a black six-story complex on your right… regency architecture…” Oswald closed his eyes again, fading in and out of consciousness as Ed carried him down the street. 

Finally, he opened his eyes to see the upper stories of his building towering above. He carefully reached his left hand into his jacket pocket and retrieved his keys. He did his best to lift them a few inches into the air. 

“Passcode for the building is 0115… Apartment 209...” Ed shifted Oswald’s knees to rest on his bicep and folded his arm across Oswald’s body to grab the keys. He closed his eyes again and felt Ed’s arms shift beneath him as he entered the code and crept inside. They took the elevator to the second floor and soon were inside Oswald’s apartment. Oswald maintained consciousness long enough to direct Ed to the cupboard of medical supplies before slipping into darkness. 

When he came to his head felt clearer, but his body still felt weak. As he attempted to blink his way to alertness Ed’s head inserted itself into his field of vision. Oswald tried to sit up, but Ed pressed him into the mattress with a firm hand on his chest.

“Please don’t move. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Your body needs more time to recover.” Oswald obeyed and watched Ed as he moved across the room to retrieve a tray from the corner. He hadn’t been able to dwell on it long the night before, but Ed’s new physique was still throwing him for a bit of a loop. Intellectually, he knew it had been four years, but whenever he thought of what Ed might be up to now, he still pictured the teenager he’d known. But this Ed was so clearly a man. His frame sturdier, his height impossibly taller. It was a bit jarring.

Ed walked back over and set the tray across Oswald’s lap. Oswald craned his neck to try and see what was on it but only the top of a glass with a bendy straw sticking out of it. and the curve of a bowl were visible to him. Ed reached over and carefully lifted his torso and slid several pillows behind him to prop him up. Oswald felt a bit infantilized, but it was also oddly nice. He could now see the tray contained lentil soup and orange juice. “To boost your hemoglobin and iron absorption.” He announced as he scooped up a spoonful and held it to Oswald’s mouth. He actually opened his mouth for a mindless second before sense and propriety caught up with him and he snapped it shut. 

“I can feed myself, thank you very much.” He bit out with more confidence than he felt. He gingerly raised his left hand to take the spoon, flexing and clenching it back and forth as he went to try and gauge whether he could actually grip it firmly. It took far too much effort, but he was able to relieve Ed of the spoon and consume several bites without spilling any. It was unreasonably delicious. “Where did you get this?” Ed reached up to fiddle with his glasses. It was a comforting familiar gesture when so many other aspects of him had changed. 

“Oh, after I finished patching you up, I wanted to make you something to aid your recovery. But you didn’t have any food that was suitable. So, I made a quick trip to the store for oranges, lentils, broth, some spices, and a few kitchen utensils.”

“Wait, you made this from scratch?” Ed nodded.

“It was on short notice and a tight budget, so I apologize if it’s not very–”

“It’s delicious!” Oswald took another bite and “mm”-d for emphasis. Ed blushed and fiddled with his glasses again. “So, Ed. What on earth are you doing here?” Ed shifted so he was fully seated on the bed next to Oswald’s feet, legs tucked beneath him.

“Well, I’ve been working for Wayne Enterprises computer software division since I interned with them the summer between my junior and senior years of college. When they decided to open an AI research lab in the UK, I was invited to work here as a researcher. So, I’ve been apartment hunting.” He rattled off. Oswald nodded, then leaned his head down to sip some juice through the straw as he absorbed the information. When he’d left Gotham to pursue a life of crime abroad, he’d fully expected to never see Ed again. He would be spending years abroad and when he returned, he would have a secret life he could never tell Ed about. If Ed was still even interested in being friends with him after all that time. Now suddenly here he was, preparing to live in the same city and with Oswald’s secret illegal activities already revealed. 

“I heard Wayne Enterprises was building a new facility in East Londonium, is that the lab you’ll be working for?” Ed nodded eagerly. A pernicious idea began to creep through the synapses of Oswald’s mind.

“Yes! That’s the one!” It was risky, very risky, but…

“And you haven’t decided on an apartment yet?” But…

“No. They’re all so expensive. I’m looking at some ones outside the city tomorrow.” 

But he was so very lonely. Except for the occasional visit home on birthdays and holidays, he only spoke to his mother on the phone. Apart from some pigeons, he fed from his windowsill, she was the only person he had truly positive social interactions with. He’d managed to cultivate some respect between himself and a few of his gangland compatriots, but the – often literally – backstabbing nature of mafia work culture sapped every conversation of any emotional meaning. Oswald had been used to spending most of his day in the presence of the person he cared most in the world for. All his life, nearly every afternoon and evening had been devoted to his mother. Now, he hadn’t seen a single person he genuinely cared about, or who cared any for him, in months. 

“What if you could live just a couple neighborhoods away free of charge?” Ed giggled.

“Well, if wishes were horses…” Oswald took another bite of soup, formulating.

“It might not have to be merely a wish. You would have to put up with a very short and somewhat seriously injured roommate though.” Ed shook his head and Oswald’s stomach felt like it was rotting inside him.

“No, I’ve tried to find roommates. No one wants to live with me.” Oswald just stared for a moment. But fortunately, before he could come up with an even less subtle overture Ed started in realization.

“Wait, are you inviting me to live with you?” His mouth remained slightly open after he finished speaking, those cognac eyes wide behind the large lenses of his glasses. Oswald shrugged, trying to appear casual.

“Well, I have plenty of room here and I certainly wouldn’t object to living with someone who cooks like this on a regular basis.” He ate another spoonful of soup demonstratively. “In fact, you’d save me more than half the rent on this place just from the take-out I wouldn’t need to buy all the time.” Oswald forced out a chuckle and sipped the orange juice as he prepared for the hardest part of the conversation.

“The only issue is: we haven’t discussed my, ah, profession. I suppose, given what you saw last night, you can gather…?”

“You work for a gangster of some kind. Your job involves regular acts of violence.” Somehow Ed’s bland tone emphasized the seriousness of Oswald’s criminality.

“I understand if you want to keep yourself away from all that.” Ed’s gaze shifted to the ceiling as he seemed to contemplate the reality of Oswald’s situation. For the first time since embarking on his quest to join the underworld, Oswald felt a touch of something resembling embarrassment. 

“Well, whatever you do, you just saved me from certain financial ruin and possible serious injury, so I don’t think I can honestly hold it against you.” He smiled and Oswald felt something inside him unclench that he didn’t even know was wound up. “However, speaking of finances – not to plagiarize A Chorus Line, but – I really need this job.” He smiled crookedly and Oswald felt himself smile back. “So, if there’s any way Wayne Enterprises could find out…?” He trailed off when Oswald began shaking his head furiously. 

“Absolutely not. This is organized crime. Appearing legitimate under even the most intensive scrutiny is required.” There was no way to one-hundred-percent guarantee that Oswald would never be caught, and Ed’s knowledge of his activities revealed, but it was unlikely enough that Oswald felt comfortable omitting it entirely. 

“Well then,” Ed giggled breathily and clasped his hands together, “when can I move in, _roomie_?” Oswald lifted his arms and spread them out in a show of hospitality.

“Whenever you like!”


	3. Cohabitation Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living with Oswald isn't all sunshine and roses.

“Well, if you really don’t mind, I guess I’ll move in right now!” He could barely believe Oswald’s hospitality. But he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Oswald chuckled amiably as Ed began to survey the apartment with new eyes. 

When he’d first come in, he’d been so focused on treating Oswald, and then on cooking food, he hadn’t taken the time to really take it in. It was far bigger than any of the apartments he’d been looking at. The bedroom alone was the size of the apartment Mrs. Lacey had shown him. It had a Queen-sized mattress on a bed so low it was essentially on the floor. There were lots of decorative pillows and a wooden nightstand. If you could call it that. It was nothing but a single drawer with a lamp on it. 

In fact, everything was very small, at least in height. There were several dressers, each only two drawers high. And the doors to a small walk-in closet stood open revealing suits hanging from bars set only three feet high. Which all made sense considering Oswald’s stature. He’d clearly had the space customized for his comfort as much as possible. There was even a little piano in the corner. Its keys were normal-sized, but the legs and bench were at least half the size of an average piano.

There was also an en-suite bathroom, as Edward had discovered when searching for medical supplies. The kitchen he’d used earlier had a variety of miniature appliances and plenty of counter space. He was excited by the idea of utilizing them to experiment with more intricate dishes. But he wasn’t looking forward to the constant crouching and leaning over he would need to do. Perhaps once he’d received a paycheck or two Oswald would let him buy another counter more suited to his own height. Next to the kitchen was a small carpeted area with a couch, a computer at a tiny desk, and a television set. Oh! Maybe he could use the computer chair in the kitchen so he could sit while he cooked! He imagined rolling back and forth between cutting boards and pots on the stove. His excitement reignited.

“I’ll go back to my hotel room tonight and bring over my suitcase tomorrow after I check out!” And he did just that. Unfortunately, the shine of moving in with Oswald didn’t take long to wear off. The only people Edward had any experience sharing a living space with were Jonathan in college and his father. (And his mother, when he was very young. But he didn’t think that really counted.) Living with his father… well, there was a reason he’d gotten emancipated at sixteen. But, “needy” was never an adjective he would have associated with him. Jonathan had been much more pleasant company, but very low maintenance in every sense of the word. Oswald was the definition of high maintenance. To the point Ed almost had trouble believing he’d really functioned on his own these past few years. 

From the moment he arrived with his suitcase around eleven o'clock in the morning, he had been subject to a constant barrage of requests to fetch things. Food and water, mostly. But Oswald also asked him to check his financial reports on his computer, to help him to the bathroom, to go to the store to buy specific treats he was craving – many of which required a not-inconsiderable amount of preparation. He often needed to purchase new kitchen utilities as well, since Oswald didn’t seem to own anything besides dishes and utensils. And so on and so forth. Edward also found it difficult to unpack much, since there was nowhere to put anything. Oswald was generous enough to give him money for his own dresser (and to cover buying all the cooking equipment). But Ed still had to go and buy it and then lug it back to the apartment on his own. By the end of the day he was so exhausted he curled up on the too-small couch and fell asleep immediately. 

The next couple days continued in much the same manner. He had a brief break while Oswald made some phone calls. But he had plenty more demands once he was done. Like buying birdfeed, helping him feed pigeons from the window, moving the TV into his bedroom so he could watch it, and adjusting the heat by fiddling with the radiator or opening the window. 

The couch was so uncomfortable to sleep on, that Ed tried sleeping on the carpet instead. It enabled him to stretch out, but the hard floor wasn’t very comfortable either. So, he felt increasingly un-well-rested as the days went on. By the third morning, he was so tired from sleeping poorly that he messed up Oswald’s coffee. Oswald wasn’t mad at him, luckily. But he decided he should help out more. That should have been a good thing, but with his injury, he should really still be resting. And Oswald’s help did not end up reducing Ed’s stress levels at all. He tried making his own food but ended up breaking the microwave by heating up a can of soup, still inside the can. He also managed to severely burn a pot while boiling water and wash the seasoning off a pre-seasoned cast-iron skillet Ed had bought. Ed finally convinced him to go back to bed before slumping onto the couch to wallow in despair for a few minutes.

Why was this so hard? Was something wrong with him that the closest friend he’d ever had was driving him up the wall so easily? Had he just forgotten Oswald could be this annoying? Had Oswald become this annoying since college? If so, was there any way to make him go back? 

“Ed?” He stiffened at the sound of Oswald’s voice from the other room. As he walked back over to Oswald’s bedside, he tried to take deep breaths to stay calm. But when he spoke his voice still came out louder and more accusatory than he would have liked.

“What?” Oswald started slightly but he couldn’t stop himself from snapping. “What could you possibly want now?” Oswald stared for a moment. 

“I…” he trailed off. “Ed where have you been sleeping? You look very tired.” Oswald’s concern washed away his anger leaving only his bone-deep exhaustion.

“Well… I was sleeping on the couch…” 

“The couch!” Oswald gave him a once-over. “You’re well over six feet tall! That couch can’t be five feet across! That cannot be comfortable to sleep on.”

“It’s not… So I uh… I just slept on the carpet.” Ed suddenly felt bad for his earlier internal complaining about this very issue. Oswald had opened his home up to him at no charge on no notice and he was complaining that there wasn’t a comfortable place to sleep all set up for him? “It’s not too bad.” He added quickly.

“Nonsense,” Oswald flapped his hand. “I’m afraid buying the other furniture for you has depleted my finances to the point where buying a suitable bed for you is not feasible today. So, until I get some more money, or we find a good deal on a bed, you can just sleep here.” He inched his way to the right, patting the newly empty space on his left. 

Wha- Here? In your bed?” Ed was a little shocked. He’d never shared a bed with someone else before. He didn’t know anything about the social etiquette such an act might involve. 

Oswald shifted over a little more, reaching behind himself to free one of the larger pillows. 

“Yes. Now get in here and take a nap, because you clearly need one.” He placed the newly freed pillow on the empty side of the bed and patted it demonstratively. Ed nodded. Not sure what else to do. He slowly walked around the bed and lifted the covers gingerly. “No need to be shy, Ed. It’s just like a sleepover.” Oswald declared as Ed eased his way under the covers and lay back on the pillow. He couldn’t relax. He was hyper-aware of every breath Oswald took. The way they shifted the blankets ever so slightly. He could feel the heat from his body permeating the covers.

“I’ve actually never had a sleepover.” Beside him, Oswald let out a strained chuckle. 

“Me neither.” The tension splintered and they both laughed a little to help further crack it.

“Well, if this is going to be our first-ever sleepover, we should do it properly.” Ed shifted up onto his elbows, leaning to the right to make eye contact with Oswald. “What are some staple, sleepover activities you’ve always wanted to try?” Oswald glanced away at the ceiling for a moment. 

“You always hear about a game called ‘Truth-or-Dare’ being played at slumber parties in films and literature. I must admit I’ve found the concept intriguing.” He smiled tentatively. 

“Truth-or-Dare it is!” Ed declared. “Do you want to ask first or be asked?” 

“Ooh! Ask me!” Oswald wriggled in excitement.

“Um, okay. Truth or Dare?” Ed asked tentatively. 

“Truth!” 

“Okay. Um...” Edward tried to think of what he could ask. “What’s the capital of Hungary?” Oswald huffed.

“What? That’s not how this works!” Oswald rolled his eyes. “I’ll ask first so you can see how it’s done. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth, I guess.” Ed chose. 

“What’s the farthest you’ve ever gone with someone?” 

“What?” Ed asked, thrown off by the unexpected question.

“You know,” Oswald circled a stubby arm through the air, “like in a relationship. Have you kissed someone? Made out? Other… stuff?” Ed felt his cheeks flame as he caught on. 

“Oh, nothing like that.” He glanced away in embarrassment. “I asked a girl to a school dance once in middle school, but she… she turned me down. And I, um, stage-kissed someone for a school play.” He met Oswald’s eyes again nervously. But his gaze wasn’t accusatory. 

“There. See? Questions like that. This is not a trivia game. The objective is to embarrass someone, either by extracting personal information or challenging them to complete a humiliating or dangerous task.” Ed nodded solemnly, absorbing the rules. “Alright, _now_ it’s your turn.” 

“Okay… who was the biggest crush you ever had? Or, or most serious relationship. If you’ve had one of those.” Oswald let out a dark chuckle. 

“Oh, I’ve never had one of those. We are in very much the same boat in that department my friend.” A small crease appeared between his eyebrows as he thought. “I’m afraid, I don’t think I’ve ever really had a crush on anyone.” He’s quiet for a moment. Eyes tracing across the ceiling in thought. “I guess, towards the end of middle school, I thought about what kind of person I might like to marry someday.” He laughed again. More harshly. “I was rereading one of my favorite books, _Birds of America_, and I realized the author had many traits I would desire in a partner. A love of birds and ornithology, for one. Talent I could respect, for another: A gift with the written word, and illustrations that were… so beautiful.” Oswald sighed. “Long dead of course. But looking at those paintings made me feel like I had this personal connection. I felt like because I was close to their art, I was close to them. I would read the book and imagine comments I would make if the words were part of a conversation.” He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Youthful silliness of course. But it’s all I can offer you I’m afraid.” 

“Don’t apologize. It sounds very… sweet. I wish the thoughts I’d had about my youthful crushes had been half so romantic.” Oswald flushed a little.

“Moving right along. I believe it’s my turn to ask.”

The game went on like that for a few rounds. Ed always chose ‘Truth’ because he was nervous about what a ‘Dare’ might involve and didn’t want to be the first to try one. Oswald always chose ‘Truth’ as well, although Ed didn’t presume to know his reasoning. 

Oswald sent him to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine at some point, but he found he didn’t mind his imperious ordering-around so much anymore. They drank straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth. They’d consumed almost a quarter of the bottle before Ed became more daring and decided to forego more traditional questions in favor of asking about what truly interested him.

“So, Oswald… you work for mobsters.” He felt Oswald stiffen next to him. “That’s not the question. I’m just setting it up.” He took another sip of wine and passed the bottle back to Oswald. “The ‘Truth’ I want to know is… how did that happen?” Oswald took a large gulp of the wine.

“Well, during my last semester of college I found out that my father’s family had worked for several mafia dons in Gotham. I felt a… calling to follow in their footsteps and restore the Cobblepot’s reputation not just in polite society, but in the Underworld as well. But those family members were dead. I had no one to introduce me to that world. No one to teach me the skills needed to thrive in that profession. I decided I would need to learn what I needed by trial and error.” He took another drink from the bottle. Swallowing slowly. “But I didn’t want to drag my family name through the mud by making those errors in Gotham. Better to cut my teeth on foreign soil, then return to Gotham prepared and hopefully with some rumors about my successes overseas to bolster my introduction to Gotham’s crime families.” 

He handed the bottle back to Ed, rolling onto his side to look him in the eye as he continued his story. “So, I began training with a street fighting instructor. I researched the gangsters of Londonium. Then I came here and began studying them up close. Once I got a feel for the who’s who of criminal society, I found out that a low-tier crime boss named Fish Mooney had put out a bounty on someone. They had proved difficult to catch, so she had upped the amount several times. I tracked them down and brought them in alive.” He shrugged. “She was impressed and offered to put me on her call list for future jobs.” 

Ed had been too enraptured with Oswald’s tale to drink any more wine, so Oswald took the bottle back and downed a few more swallows. “I did well on a few more jobs for her and when Vale recruited enforcers, she recommended me.” He sighed. “Now I’m here. Enforcing borders and collecting dues. That’s the bare bones of it at least.” Ed nodded, he knew he should be at least horrified. But he was mostly in awe.

“That’s amazing Oswald. I should probably disapprove, but you’ve come a long way in a short time. I can’t help but respect that.” Oswald smiled and gave him the bottle.

“Thank you, Ed. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that my profession hasn’t scared you away.” 

They continued on, the questions became less and less about “embarrassing” “personal information” and became more and more about the parts of each other’s lives that intrigued them.

“Who was the first person you ever killed?” Ed lifted the wine bottle to his lips again as he waited for Oswald to answer. He was already more intoxicated than he’d ever been in his life. But he felt warm and fuzzy and he was having such a good time. They had fallen into a routine of question-asking and wine-drinking and he didn’t dare alter it.

Oswald had answered several morbid and invasive questions about his new career with good humor, but when he spoke his voice was cold.

“First _person_?” Ed nodded. “My half-brother.” He snatched the bottle back and took a long swig. Ed hadn’t known Oswald had any sort of siblings. Had he killed this brother before they’d met? How old had he been? His rambling train of thought was broken by Oswald’s voice, 

“Assuming you haven’t wanted to be a computer program since birth, what was your dream job when you were little? Astronaut? President?” He froze. He didn’t want to talk about this. But the rules of the game required an honest answer. Not that lying was ever an option.

“Actor.” 

“_Really_. Like a movie star?” Ed felt something twist in his gut.

“Sure. Or on Broadway.”

“_Broadway!_ Like with _singing_ and _dancing_?” Ed shrugged. His throat felt too full to swallow. He didn’t want to think about this. He loved computers. And it was far too late now. Most successful performers started dance lessons at age three and vocal lessons at fourteen. They were in school plays in elementary school and community theater in high school. With parents cheering them on in the audience…

Anyway. He liked programming. He was proud and excited to be working for a world-renowned company like Wayne Enterprises. He cleared his throat.

“Okay, my turn. You ready to try some dares?” Ed felt a spike of anxiety as he waited for Oswald to respond.

“Hell yeah.” Ed smirked at Oswald’s uncharacteristically base vocabulary. A side effect of the alcohol? “Hit me.”

“Truth or dare?” 

“Dare” 

“I dare you to cook an omelet.” Ed steeled himself as Oswald burst out laughing. 

“What?” 

“I saw you try to cook today.” Ed nodded seriously. “I want to see what you do to something with more than two or three steps.”

A few minutes later Ed was drinking wine while Oswald awkwardly pushed the egg, cheese, mushroom, and tomato mixture around in the pan. Ed giggled. 

“For someone excelling at black market economics. You’re are terrible at home economics.” Ed drank another mouthful of wine. Oswald huffed.

“My mother was a cook!” He snapped. “I’ve never had to prepare meals because she always made my food for me!” His hair slid across his sweaty forehead as he stirred vigorously, a lock falling over his brow. The heat was too high and the way he was stirring left a layer of cooked eggs on the bottom that was presumably getting burnt while the rest of the mixture stayed gooey on top. But besides instructing him on the basics on the recipe, Ed wasn’t providing him any help. That was the point of the dare. Eventually, Oswald scraped the unevenly cooked heap of eggs onto a plate.

“Okay,” he said smoothing back his rogue lock of hair, “my turn. Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.” Oswald shoved the plate towards him.

“I dare you to eat this.” Ed nearly dropped the wine bottle.

“The whole thing?”  
“You made me chop two kinds of vegetables and crack eggs with my bare hands. Yes, the whole thing!”

Ed set the wine down on the counter, and Oswald snatched it up. Ed eyed the unappetizing yellow lump. He refused to lose like this. He’d eaten worse. He steeled himself and methodically forced the food down his throat bite by bite. He gagged the whole time, but eventually, the plate was clean. Oswald giggled as Ed grabbed the wine out of his hands to cleanse his palette.

“You looked like you were eating raw lemons!”

They did a few more rounds of Dares before Oswald looked at the clock. 

“Okay, it’s actually getting late now. I’ll ask you one more question, and then we should head to bed.” He downed the last of the wine. Ed nodded.

“I want a dare.” He watched as Oswald finished swallowing the wine before speaking.

“I dare you to perform something for me.”

“What?” Ed was frozen. Staring.

“You said you wanted to be on Broadway. You must know at least one song.” He couldn’t sing in front of Oswald. He didn’t want to. Or he desperately wanted to. Either way, the very thought made his stomach flutter and his palms clammy. “Oh, come on, at least ‘Happy Birthday’ or something. I can play a couple of chords on the piano to accompany you.” He led the way back to the bedroom. He sat down at the tiny piano and played a few chords clearly meant to go with “Happy Birthday.” There was no pattern to the way he played the chords. Just three notes at a time. He looked up at Ed expectantly. But Ed felt a sudden rush of purpose come over him. If he was going to do this, he was going to commit.

“Actually, I can play. Why don’t I just accompany myself?” Oswald’s eyebrows shot up, but he stood up and moved to the side. Ed moved the tiny bench out of his way and kneeled before the piano. He played the E flat major scale and a few chords to warm up. Already knowing in his gut which song he wanted to sing. He cleared his throat, humming along with some arpeggios to warm up. Then began a pattern of quarter notes with the left hand and triplets of eighth notes with the right.

_“You’re either a poet, or you’re a lover...”_

He began. A bit softly.

_You take one road. You try one door.  
There isn’t time for any more, one’s life consists of either/or.”_

His voice sounded reasonably clear, but he still felt a bit tentative. 

_“The road you didn't take hardly comes to mind,_  
Does it?  
The door you didn't try, where could it have led?” 

He felt a rush of nerves as he realized just how long it had been since he’s seriously practiced. How long it had been since he had actually played or sung in front of another person.

_“Dreams you didn't dare_  
Are dead.  
Were they ever there?” 

He chanced a glance at Oswald. His eyes were wide, but his expression was attentive, not repulsed. Ed relaxed a little and gave himself over to the music.

_“The lives I'll never lead_  
Couldn't make me sing.  
Could they? Could they? Could they?” 

He tightened his abdominal muscles to support his lungs as he began to belt in earnest. Fingers hitting the keys a bit more forcefully than necessary. But he couldn’t help it. Performing was such a rush. He’d practiced a bit in private since middle school, but it was so different in front of another person. How had he gone without it so long?

_“You take your road,_  
The decades fly,  
The yearnings fade, the longings die.  
You learn to bid them all goodbye.” 

He slowed down at the end. Adrenaline dissipating. He lowered the volume of his playing and singing for the final lines.

_“The me I'll never be,  
Who remembers him?”_

He stayed still, staring at the silent keys. Now that the empowering rush of the performance was over, he felt a bit exposed. A burst of little claps sounded from his right and he turned to look at Oswald, whose expression was unusually blank apart from his still wide eyes. His mouth moved a few times before he actually spoke.

“That was amazing, Ed. I had no idea. I…” He trailed off. Blinking a couple times. “You’re very talented. That was really special, thank you.” Ed ducked his head, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Um. Thank you.” His face still felt hot. The tops of his ears burned. “Bedtime?” Oswald swallowed.

“Right.” He made his way to the bed and Ed followed. It wasn’t so awkward anymore. Oswald started snoring which startled Ed a little. But compared to the noise of the city streets outside, it was more comforting than irritating. Ed fell asleep quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to listen to the song Ed sings, it's "The Road You Didn't Take" from the musical _Follies_, you can find it here:
> 
> https://youtu.be/KDOr_8-whD0
> 
> I changed one word in the last line from "Ben" to "me" because I thought it would break the flow to mention the name of a character from Follies with no context. Forgive me, Sondheim!
> 
> I'm planning on doing some one-shots that cover Ed's and Oswald's childhoods at some point. I've also been playing around with one covering Oswald's time alone in Londonium. Would anyone be interested in that?


	4. The Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald has a meeting with his boss.

Oswald awoke to the sound of Ed whining into the pillow beside him.

“It hurts so much!” he complained, voice slightly muffled by the pillow he was trying to bury his face in. 

Oswald rolled towards the edge of the bed, a familiar brand of headache making itself known as he did so.

“Yes. It’s called a hangover Ed.” He fumbled blindly for his nightstand drawer. He’d had the handle moved as close to the edge as possible so he could reach it from the bed, but the length of his arms still made reaching the water bottle and pain killers he kept inside, a struggle. Ed let out another groan.

“I know what it’s called. But no description in popular or medical literature compares to the real thing.” He grumbled. Oswald popped a pill in his mouth and handed the bottle to Ed before taking a swig of water before passing that over as well. Ed downed the rest of the bottle, which wasn’t quite what Oswald had intended. But it was clear last night had been his first time drinking, so he gave him a pass. Besides, his tall-person metabolism probably needed a lot more hydration anyway. 

Resigning himself to more pain, Oswald rolled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen for more water. After a few minutes of chugging glasses of tap water, his headache began to subside to something manageable. Or maybe it was the pain killer finally kicking in. Ed still hadn’t made an appearance, so Oswald filled his largest glass and carefully carried it back to the bedroom. Ed was still lying on the mattress, face down with his pillow pulled over his head. 

“Ed!” Oswald barked. “Come on, you can’t smother your troubles away all day. He bumped Ed’s arm with the glass of water. Ed lifted his head long enough to accept the glass and swallow its contents before passing the empty cup back and returning his head to its sub-pillow den. Rolling his eyes Oswald walked around the bed to place the empty glass on his nightstand before walking over to his dresser to select an outfit. 

“Well, you may have taken it up, but I’m done with bedrest myself. I’m going to work. I’ll collect my paycheck for dealing with Mr. Vasquez and see if there are any new assignments I can pick up.” He’d spoken with Mr. Vale on the phone a few times to reassure him that the situation had been dealt with and that Oswald would be back in action soon. But Mr. Vale only paid in cash and only discussed job details face-to-face, so Oswald had to meet him in person. He sifted through his suits. He needed something that said “my recent injury has in no way made me less effective” while also not aggravating said injury more than necessary. He settled on an all-black ensemble with no shoulder pads and a red tie.

He dressed in the bathroom, stowing his plague-doctor-style mask in his jacket, then left the apartment and headed South. He zig-zagged his way through the city blocks - if they could be called that. Growing up in Gotham, Oswald had been accustomed to a relatively consistent grid system. His own home might have been on the outskirts of the city, but whenever he ventured downtown everything was measured in blocks. Here, the streets were more haphazard. Centuries of construction long predating the advent of city planning had left the layout of Londonium frustratingly inconsistent. Nevertheless, after four years here, he’d learned the tricks of navigation. 

He stopped in a public bathroom to put on his mask, then continued on his way. He soon arrived at his rendezvous point with Mr. Vale: a shadowy concrete ledge beneath a bridge. As he descended, he looked around, trying to spot Vale’s guards who he knew watched his every move from a distance. But as usual, they were too well concealed to spot. Vale was already there, wearing a charcoal gray suit with a burgundy tie and a streamlined white gas mask. Mr. Vale had a strict policy of total anonymity. No one who worked for him saw each other’s faces or knew each other’s full names. In fact, most had code names. The exception being Vale himself, who knew everyone’s real name. Some employees chafed under Vale’s extreme security measures, but they suited Oswald just fine. The whole reason he’d come to Londonium was to avoid dragging his family’s reputation through the mud. Working for someone that encouraged compartmentalization of one’s criminal and civilian identities was ideal for him. Oswald moved to stand at attention before Mr. Vale, who spoke in a gravelly voice, altered by his mask. 

“Scipio,” he addressed Oswald by his code name, “good work enforcing our border with the Low Boyz.” He retrieved a wad of notes from his pocket and held them out with his burgundy-gloved hand. Oswald marched a few steps forward to take them. Trying to hold his body as stiff as possible. Mr. Vale seemed to fancy a militaristic aesthetic and Oswald did his best to play into it.

“Thank you, sir.” Accordingly, Oswald knelt on one knee after accepting the money. Mr. Vale hummed approvingly.

“As you were. I have a new assignment for you.” Oswald scrambled to his feet as Mr. Vale withdrew a manila envelope from inside his suit jacket. “There are a few people who haven’t been paying their taxes. I need you to collect the money they owe me.” Oswald nodded as he accepted the envelope. Through the distortion of his mask, Oswald noticed he dropped the ‘h’ at the beginning of “haven’t”. He also had a habit of pronouncing ‘th’ as ‘v’ and omitting double ‘tt’ sounds in the middle of words. Oswald had long suspected he naturally spoke with an Estuary Accent, and this was just more evidence in favor of that theory.

As Oswald stowed the folder inside his jacket, Mr. Vale spoke again.

“Scipio, I’m going to be frank with you. I know you put on an act of being a humble yes-man. But I know you have ambitions. I also know as much as you would like to be a coldhearted son-of-a-bitch who’ll stab anyone in the back to get ahead, you are capable of feeling emotions. Emotions like compassion. Like loyalty. I just want to give you a little advice today, man-to-man. If your ambitions mean anything to you, your loyalties should mean nothing to you. You get what I’m saying?” Oswald did not understand.

“Sir, if you doubt my loyalty to you-” But before he could conjure some heartfelt speech about how he “owed Mr. Vale everything”, “would never betray him”, et cetera, et cetera; the man cut him off.

“You don’t have any loyalty to me.” Oswald began to sputter in protest, but Vale continued assertively. “You do what I say because I’m the most powerful crime lord in the country, and you want a piece of that power. As long as I stay on top – and I will stay on top – I don’t have to worry about you going turncoat. This is a business relationship. Costs and benefits. I’m fine with that. I like it that way.” He took a step closer to Oswald. “You just be sure to remember how it benefits you.” He leaned over him bringing his masked face within inches of Oswald’s own. “And what it would cost you to lose it.” He pulled back abruptly and gestured outside. “You’re dismissed.” 

Oswald hurried out, then once he was sure he was out of sight – and earshot – kicked a trashcan over. He hated when people towered over him like that on purpose. He huffed. He knew it was a common intimidation tactic, but it still made his blood boil in a way no other form of posturing could. He fumed all the way home. What was Mr. Vale’s deal today anyway? Why put on such a show? It was discomfiting to know Vale saw through his subservient act. But Oswald hadn’t really expected to fool him fully anyway. Besides, putting it out in the open gave away any edge Mr. Vale might have had over him. 

Oswald pondered the meaning of Mr. Vale’s little speech all the way back to the apartment. He warned Oswald against being too loyal. But dismissed the idea Oswald had any loyalty towards him. Who did he think Oswald was loyal to? He knew Oswald’s name; did he know how close he was to his mother? The thought that his mother could be in danger made his blood run cold. But even most of the hardest mobsters had families, why single Oswald out? If his mother was the concern, why wait nearly half a decade to bring it up? He let himself into his flat to find Ed kneeling in front of the stove. The water and painkillers Oswald gave him earlier must have done their work because he seemed quite chipper.

“Oswald! You’re back!” He used the pancake-turner in his hand to gesture to the skillet in front of him. “I’m making crepes, do you want some?” Oswald answered affirmatively, then headed into the bedroom to examine the folder Mr. Vale had given him. Ed’s cheerful humming dampened as he closed the door behind him. Another thought sent a chill through him. Was this about Ed? Did Mr. Vale know about his new roommate and want him gone? Oswald tugged the folder out of his jacket and whipped it open. Inside was a list of names and addresses. Presumably, people Vale wanted Oswald to extract money from. He recognized a couple of people, but no one jumped out at him until the last few names. There, in double-spaced 11-point Times New Roman font were two words: Fish Mooney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm flattered by how much positive feedback I've gotten on the one-shots idea! I'll probably write the one about Oswald's solo adventures in Londonium first, since it has the most relevance to the current plot, then post the ones about their childhoods around the time I finish this fic. Since I think that part of their backstory is most relevant to the next part of this series.


	5. Orientation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed starts his first day at Wayne Enterprise's WayneTech division and meets his new coworkers.

Ed’s first day at the lab was now upon him and he made sure to press his best suit the night before. It was from a thrift store, but he’d taken in the waist a little, so it fit him better. Then he excitedly put on the official Wayne Enterprises ID badge he’d been sent. It had a magnetic clip that attached to his lapel. The badge hung down with his photo and employee information on one side and a barcode on the back. He printed out all the information that had been emailed to him pertaining to his new position and packed it into a briefcase. He paused in front of the mirror for a moment to appreciate how professional he looked. Then he hurried out of the apartment complex and began the two-or-three mile walk to the lab. The cool morning air made him feel energized. The pinks and oranges of the sunrise lit up the little of the sky that was visible above the skyscrapers. 

Ed arrived at the lab half-an-hour early, but there was a receptionist on duty. She instructed him to go to the break room until his shift started. He sat down in a leather chair and smiled at the few people that shuffled in and out for a cup of coffee. While he waited, he double-checked the room he was supposed to report to. Nervous anticipation flapped in his stomach, and he bounced his knee to try and relieve the tension. He wasn’t particularly successful. 

Ed was excited to work for such a prestigious firm and for the opportunity to work on advancing computer science. But starting a new job meant meeting new people. People he would spend nearly ten hours a day with for the foreseeable future. First impressions would be very important. If there was one thing Ed was bad at, it was making a good first impression. Fifteen minutes before his start time he navigated his way to the conference room listed. It was locked, so he stood outside for another ten minutes. A dark-skinned man in a crisp tailored suit came down the hall. He was looking down at a ring of keys in his hand, sifting through them until selecting one with a blue dot on it. He looked up and saw Ed.

“Hello,” He smiled warmly, his voice was smooth with a rich tenor, “you must be Mr. Nygma.” His tone put Ed more at ease and when he extended his hand, Ed shook it enthusiastically.

“That’s me. Ed Nygma.” 

“Lucius Fox. It’s a pleasure to be working with you. I’m the Senior Researcher at this lab, so we will be working together quite closely.” He released Ed’s hand and unlocked the door. He entered, holding the door open for Ed.

“Thank you. I’m sure it will be a pleasure working with you as well.” He wasn’t quite sure that response made sense, but Mr. Fox smiled again, so he must have understood the meaning. “Why don’t you take a seat. I’ll be providing the orientation for you and our research assistant once she-” He was cut off by the door opening as a blonde woman in a black dress suit entered. 

“Oh, am I late? I could have sworn…” she glanced at her watch as Mr. Fox rushed to reassure her.

“No, no. We were both here a bit early and were just introducing ourselves. You must be Ms. Flynn.” She pressed a hand to her chest. 

“Thank goodness. And yes: Isabella Flynn.” She smoothed her sky-blue blouse and shook his hand. “I’m so excited to be working here.” Their handshake broke and she turned to Ed, reaching out to shake his hand as well. He took it mutely. Feeling almost numb. She was stunning. With vintage make-up and style, she looked like a leading lady from an old Hitchcock film. He tried to make his lips form what he hoped was a friendly smile as she released his hand and pressed both palms to her cheeks. “Oh! Dear me, I’ve done all this introducing and I haven’t even learned your names. Which one of you is Mr. Fox?”

“I’m Lucius Fox,” he smiled, “Senior Researcher for the WayneTech AI Lab. I’ll be giving you two your orientation today.” He raised his arm out towards Ed. “And this is-”

“I’m Ed Nygma!” Ed burst out, a little more loudly than he intended. Miss Flynn gave him a sweet smile. He could feel his heart rate rising. Mr. Fox coughed.

“Mr. Nygma is the Junior Researcher. You’ll be assisting both of us.” Lucius Fox gestured to the conference table. “Why don’t we all take a seat and I’ll go over some company policy before I show you around?” They each took a seat to either side of the head of the table. Mr. Fox booted up the projector and handed them each a folder containing information packets. Miss Flynn pulled a small black case out of her pocket and put on the silver glasses inside. She glanced down at the papers in her folder, peeping/peering over the top of her spectacles to see the presentation. Ed couldn’t help but think how very cute she looked. Fox worked his way through slides detailing general information as they followed along in their packets.

“The barcodes on the back of your ID badges will give you access to the building and break room. But to access the labs you’ll also use your biometric data. Later today we’ll take your fingerprints and scan your irises for this purpose.” Miss Flynn raised her hand. 

“Mr. Fox? When I was hired, I disclosed a medical issue that prevents me from providing proper fingerprints. I was told Wayne Enterprises would make accommodations.” She reached inside her blazer and pulled out an unsealed envelope. “My pertinent medical records and correspondence with your hiring department are in this envelope.” Mr. Fox took the envelope. 

“Oh? I wasn’t briefed on that.” He tucked it inside his own jacket. “I’ll look these over with you after orientation.” He turned back to the presentation. “The point is, we take security very seriously here. Wayne Enterprises, and the WayneTech division specifically, has sustained several attempted cyber-attacks recently. The origins are unknown, but corporate espionage by S.T.A.R. Labs, LuthorCorp, or Galaxy Communications is suspected. We don’t know what other methods might be employed in future attempts, so we must be vigilant.”

He continued explaining security protocols then moved on to a detailed map of the facility.

“Most of your work will take place in this room,” he used a laser pointer to circle a room near the center of the building labeled “AI Lab One”, “but you’ll use this meeting room and the break room regularly.” He continued, using the red light to indicate offices and other meeting rooms. 

“Alright,” Mr. Fox said, finishing up a summary that utilized the color-coded key at the edge of the map, “all this information – and the map – is included in your orientation folder. As you have probably already discovered.” He shut off the projector. “So, you ready for a tour?” 

Mr. Fox led them down out of the meeting room and down the hallways, pointing out different departments and rooms along the way. The entire facility had a very sterile aesthetic. The walls and ceilings were white, and the floors were white tile. The only exceptions were the meeting rooms and offices that had black carpeting and the break room which had yellow walls. Ed didn’t mind though. He preferred the clean lines and blank walls to the dirty beige of the computer labs back at the university or the dark colors that had decorated the office he had worked at in Gotham. 

As they walked, Miss Flynn took vigorous notes in a small journal. Her glasses slid a few inches down her nose, which Ed found adorable. But he also wondered why she was writing so intently. Mr. Fox’s commentary added little information beyond what had been in the presentation, and what he did add verbally was hardly necessary to their job duties. Ed’s nerves had declined to the point he was actually feeling a little bored. As Fox finished an anecdote about the architect’s background working with MI-6, Miss Flynn raised her hand.

“Mr. Fox? Sir,” she readjusted her glasses, “I couldn’t help that notice all the labs are centrally located, is this a security measure?” 

“It is.” Fox said. “Most of the sensitive data is stored inside the labs, so it’s important to keep them as secure as possible. Having them in the middle at least adds a little protection from a physical break-in.” 

Finally, he showed them to AI Lab One. He used the biometric scanners to unlock the door and showed them in. Ed felt a rush of excitement, and the interior did not disappoint. There were several computers, each with multiple monitors. Ed had never seen monitors so sleek or with such crisp imaging. He and Miss Flynn opened their folders and used their log-in credentials to sign in to computers. Mr. Fox directed them to open various programs, most of which Ed was familiar with from his previous position. Many of them seemed to be updated versions. Ed noted where new functions had been added here and there. Miss Flynn’s voice sounded to his right.

“Mr. Fox? I see a statistical software package has been added called ‘carData’. I’m familiar with car, but what is this new package?” She tapped the monitor with a polished nail. Fox walked over to stand at her shoulder.

“It’s a companion to the car package. It contains data sets and data frames that could be used to build regression models using the car package.” He leaned over and pointed to something on her screen. “The ‘Help’ section has been expanded to provide descriptions of what functions are included in each package. So, you can just click here to look up newer packages you are unfamiliar with.” Mr. Fox smiled kindly and Miss Flynn blushed. She pressed her fingers against her lips with a giggle.

“Oh, of course. How silly of me, sir. I should have thought to look there.” Fox patted her shoulder.  
“No worries. You’ll get the hang of it. Nothing degrades your critical thinking skills like nerves, and it’s perfectly acceptable to be nervous on your first day.”

Edward’s own nerves were dissolving as he immersed himself in examining the changes to the various programs. Mr. Fox moved to stand in front and addressed them both.

“Now, as you know, our mission here is to advance the field of artificial intelligence, particularly learning algorithms. AI has become very good at solving problems with straightforward rules, inputs, and outputs. Some can master basic pattern recognition. But when it comes to processing cluttered visuals or interpreting social cues, AI has made little progress. It’s our job to push the needle along and create learning algorithms that can accomplish more than solving math equations or winning chess games.” He turned to focus his attention on Ed. “Mr. Nygma, I’m sure you’ve had time to think about how to approach this issue. I want you to be ready to discuss our plan of action tomorrow. Now, let's get you processed by biometrics and then you’re free for the rest of the day.” He turned to Miss Flynn. “Why don’t you come with us. We’ll get your irises scanned while I review the documents you gave me and talk with security about an alternative to fingerprints.”


	6. Posturing, Schemes, and a Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for Oswald to confront Fish about the money she owes to Vale. But Fish has something else she wants to discuss.

“Please!” The man Oswald was attempting to extract money from writhed in agony as sulphuric acid was dripped onto his left arm. Oswald only knew him by the codename Vale had given him: Wolf. But the fact he ran a dry cleaning shop meant he was probably in money laundering. Ironic, considering his current lack of cash.

“Just give me the money you owe, and this can all be over.” Oswald told him calmly as he pressed his knife more firmly against Wolf’s neck. He whimpered pathetically for a few more moments, his tears and blood mixing into a warm salty mess on Oswald’s wrist and his own chest. 

“Okay, okay. I might have a few bucks stashed away. But I need that money for food.”

“Go to a food bank.” Oswald said, releasing Wolf who nodded and crawled across the floor towards the safe he had claimed was empty. It had taken less than an hour to break the man. Oswald sighed with both relief and disappointment. Wolf was the last target on his list before Fish. Once he paid up, Oswald would have no excuse but to go after her. Any delay would cause Vale to think he was weak, or worse, to doubt his loyalty. Of course, Oswald felt as much loyalty to Vale as he did to the restaurants he’d frequented before Ed moved in - that is to say, non-existent beyond convenience. But he didn’t want Vale to know that. 

Wolf finished opening his safe and removed an, admittedly convincing, false bottom. He retrieved some stacks of cash and a handful of jewelry.

“This really _is_ all the money I got,” he whined, passing the notes to Oswald, “but these should be worth enough to cover the rest.” He handed over a diamond necklace and two sapphire rings with white-gold bands. Oswald examined them for a moment, testing the weight. He would need more time and some specialized tools to fully verify their authenticity and value. But he’d dealt with enough transactions of this nature to see they weren’t obvious fakes. And that their value was still a few hundred beneath the needed amount. He snatched a ruby necklace from the bundle of jewelry still clasped in Wolf’s left fist. 

“These should balance your account,” Oswald announced, pocketing it along with the rest, “but consider paying up promptly next time. Don’t play games. The next debt-collector might not possess my saintly patience.” Oswald left the man to curl up on the floor, and headed to the dropsite.

As in everything else, Mr. Vale wanted financial transactions to be confidential. But he didn’t have the time to meet enforcers personally for each collection. So instead, he had an elaborate KGB-style system of drop sites where enforcers would leave cash or documents and other henchmen would pick them up. This site was a hollow tree in a nearby park. Oswald placed the cash in a geocache-like box inside along with a note explaining that the rest of the payment had been made in valuables and that he would drop them off tomorrow once he had personally verified their legitimacy. 

Once he was a few blocks away, Oswald pulled off his mask and took a deep breath of clean air. He hobbled home, leaning a little on his umbrella as he went. His particular kind of dwarfism - achondroplasia - wasn’t kind to his joints. After all the activity involved in subduing Wolf, his knees were a bit sore. When his mother had begun insisting he carry an umbrella with him everywhere, Oswald had found it burdensome. He’d thought when he moved out here he would do away with the habit. But he’d found an umbrella could make a useful cane without telegraphing his weaknesses to his enemies and coworkers the way a real cane would. Still, if only there were a way to make his umbrella even more useful…

Oswald was pulled from his musings by the delicious smells that slapped him in the face like an ocean wave as he entered his apartment. He found the source to be a sight he’d become pleasantly familiar with over the past month: Ed in the kitchen. He was seated on a swivel chair as usual, stirring one of two pots on the stove, knees lit by the glow of the oven beneath them. 

“Oswald!” Ed beamed at him over his still-furiously-stirring right arm. The sight made Oswald’s chest feel pathetically warm and fuzzy. 

“Ed,” Oswald set his coat on the couch, “what are you cooking? It smells divine.” As Ed rattled off a detailed description of the East-Asian dishes he was working on, Oswald made his way past him to retrieve some tools from his room. He returned to the couch and spread his instruments out on the coffee table, then pulled out the ruby necklace. As he began his first test, Ed’s voice sounded near his ear, making him jump.

“Where did you get that? It’s very pretty. Those look like tools to check for false gems. Why are you checking for that?” Oswald raised his hand as if he could physically hold back the hail of questions.

“It’s a work thing. Also, please don’t sneak up on me like that. I simply don’t understand how someone your size can be so quiet, but it’s quite unnerving.” 

“Sorry,” Ed said, adjusting his glasses, “did you steal it?” Something hot flared in Oswald’s chest and he felt his face warm. 

“Ed!” Oswald snapped. “I did _not_-” he cut himself off, realizing that under some definitions, he had. “..._legally_, perhaps. But in the industry, we call it tax-collection. I’m _not_ a thief.” He huffed. Ed blinked at him a moment, then shrugged. 

“Well, I hope your ‘tax-collecting’ work wasn’t too eventful.” He returned to the kitchen. “Can I get a tall-sized island counter?” He asked as he plopped back down on the swivel chair. “I don’t mind preparing dishes sitting down, but some tasks are more comfortable to complete standing up.”

“Sure, let me know how much it costs to get one and I’ll give you the money next time I get paid.” Oswald replied as he returned to his examination of the rubies. 

“Actually, I think I can pay for it myself, but thank you.” Ed’s response tickled the back of Oswald’s mind, making him feel he was forgetting something. He glanced over at Ed and noticed that while he was wearing his customary combination of apron and short-sleeved button-up., he also had on neatly pressed black suit pants instead of his usual corduroy. 

“Oh!” Oswald vocalized his epiphany. “You had your first day of work at the lab, didn’t you? How did that go?” Ed shot him a ridiculously pleased smile.

“I did! It was pretty nice...” He proceeded to chatter about his day as he turned off one of the burners and checked the oven. “...Mr. Fox was very friendly and professional, and our lab assistant is incredible. Very attentive, if a bit slow picking up the new software. And so pretty! She looks like she could star in an Audrey Hepburn biopic.” This comment broke Oswald’s concentration. He hoped Ed wasn’t developing a crush on this new co-worker. He liked the routine he and Ed had established, he enjoyed their conversations, and he didn’t want Ed’s life suddenly revolving around some strumpet. 

Fortunately, Ed moved on to other topics. 

“...just another reason the lab is amazing.” He turned off the other burner and drained the pot in the sink. “And then they took my biometric data - fingerprints and iris scans - so I will be able to access the lab on my own at any time.” He took a tray out of the oven, then paused and turned to face Oswald. “Is it wrong that I’m already thinking about how I might use the lab to work on personal projects after-hours?” Ed stood there, awaiting his answer, a small wrinkle between his eyebrows. Oswald smirked.

“I doubt I’m qualified to be a purveyor of moral guidance, but I find the notion endearingly inoffensive.” It _would_ most likely be considered unethical by the average Wayne Enterprise manager. But Ed’s ethical flexibility was one of the primary reasons their friendship functioned, so Oswald wasn’t going to encourage him to become more straight-laced.

* * *

The next morning, having verified the value of the ring and necklaces, Oswald deposited them at the park and prepared himself to confront Fish. He dug out every sheath he owned, sharpened his knives, and strapped them on everywhere that could be practical. He felt numb, as though his nerves had overloaded to the point of short-circuiting. He retrieved his only gun from it’s hidden compartment in the bathroom, cleaned and oiled it, and holstered it. He also placed several acidic weapons in his coat pockets: a bottle of drain-cleaner, a container of bleach with a spray-nozzle, a water gun filled with ammonia, and a few canisters of sleeping gas. Finally, he finished getting dressed, tucked his mask into a spare pocket, and headed out.

He arrived at Fish’s club with a mix of trepidation and nostalgia. This is where he got his big break. Fish Mooney had been his first role model for what it meant to be a crime boss. Her codename under Vale was “Fish”, but unlike most of his underbosses, who obeyed his anonymity creed to the letter, she made no effort to hide her true identity as the infamous club owner Maria Mercedes Mooney. As much as Oswald appreciated Vale’s confidentiality policies personally, he couldn’t deny the raw appeal of Mooney’s style. It took a special kind of power to be able to operate in both the legal and illegal business worlds as yourself. To have gangsters tremble at your name, yet have the police unable to lay a finger on you. If there was ever a figure Oswald had wanted to emulate, it was Fish Mooney.

Oswald ducked into the alley to don his mask, then approached the staff entrance. It was locked, of course, but as an enforcer, he knew the security codes to all the underbosses’ headquarters. The staff he encountered as he walked down the hall scrambled out of his way. A pleasant change from when he’d worked here. 

He had intended to make his way to the entrance of the dining floor. He’d imagined standing in the shadows of the doorway, watching Fish seated at her usual booth. She would be watching one of the acts on stage, perhaps chatting with Butch, her right hand man. Between acts, or during a lull in the conversation, she would ask a waiter for another cocktail. One of the red-clad jittery men would hurry over to hand her one. She would pluck the martini glass from his hand with her usual flamboyance and as the man scurried away, her gaze would trail across the empty space and come to rest on him. Perhaps she would already have raised her glass to her lips and their eyes would meet over the rim. What would the crime boss feel upon seeing her former employee come for her? They had met when he helped her enforce her will upon her lessers. She helped him obtain his current position. Now he was tasked with enforcing Vale’s will upon her. As deeply as he had dreaded their confrontation, this had been a moment some dark corner of him had looked forward to. The moment Fish would see him. Would realize why he was there. A moment her composure might slip enough for some genuine emotion might show on her face and give him a clue to her psychological processes. 

However, the staff must have alerted her to his arrival, because before he reached the end of the hall, she appeared at the other end.

“Scipio.” She addressed him by his codename with her usual innate authority and a subtle undercurrent of derision. Though whether that attitude was aimed at Oswald himself, his choice of codename, or the man he was here to represent, was unclear. Her tone revealed nothing. Her face was in shadow, impossible to read. She remained completely enigmatic. Oswald felt frustrated, but just like when he’d first seen Fish Mooney, he also felt a flare of veneration. 

Fish gestured to her left..

“Why don’t we speak in my office,” she continued, “privately.” 

Oswald followed her into the luxurious red room and moved to stand on the chair in front of Fish’s desk while she dismissed her bodyguards. Not a move Oswald had predicted. Was she trying to project confidence? Or could she have already resigned herself to yielding, to paying up, and wanted to reduce the number of witnesses to preserve her dignity? The latter option seemed unlikely. Fish had a lot of pride, but she wasn’t the type to let a former employee frisk her without a fight. Oswald gritted his teeth as best his misshapen jaw allowed. Fish sat down on the other side of the desk, giving him a slight height advantage. Again, not a typical negotiating tactic.

“Oswald,” she rested a stylishly manicured hand on the desktop, “we’re alone. You can remove that mask now.” Her honey eyes bored into him as he raised his hands, then stalled. “Oh come on,” she rolled her eyes, “I just want to speak with you face to face. As business associates.” Oswald felt a flicker of warmth at how she framed him as her equal. It may not have been his wisest move, but Oswald did as she said, removing the black object from his head and setting it on the polished wood between them.

“Fish. I wish we were not in this situation.” Oswald curled his toes inside his shoes to tamp down on his urge to fidget. “Alas, I have a job to do. I hope we can find a way to settle your debts to Mr. Vale without violence.” Fish pursed her lips. 

“Are you threatening me, Oswald?” she drummed her nails on the desk. 

“I’m being diplomatic. I’m trying to help you out here.”

“You help me?” Fish chuckled darkly. “I’m the one who always helped you.” Here it was. Playing on their history. Trying to guilt him into going easy on her. Oswald must not let himself be affected. “I gave you work, I got you the job you have now.” She shook her head slowly. “Even now, I’m the one offering you an opportunity.” Oswald tried not to let his confusion show.

“What opportunity?” He asked - less authoritatively than he would have liked. Fish smiled and stood up from her chair. She leaned across the desk to stare him directly in the eye.

“The opportunity to help me usurp Vale.” She intoned. Oswald’s composure broke.

“What? You want to lead a coup against Vale? How can you possibly hope to succeed in such an endeavor?” 

Fish’s smile grew until the edges of her eyes crinkled. A rare sight.

“Because I know who he is.” She sat down triumphantly. Oswald felt a strange tingling sensation bubble in his chest. But in a bid to regain his poise he merely raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Now, I know many of us have assumed that Vale’s love of codenames extends to himself.” She continued. “But I wondered: what if it didn’t? What if Vale is his real surname? After all, he’s been in this business for a long time. Perhaps he’s worked under a fake name for over thirty years…” Oswald began to see the thread of her reasoning.

“But that is some remarkable foresight he would have had as a teenager.” Oswald cut in, the tingle in his chest rising to smolder.” Fish’s smug expression softened to a smirk. 

“You’re catching on. If he started working under his real name and then switched to a fake name he would have needed to kill any older associates he didn’t completely trust to keep his identity secret.” Oswald felt the same gut-punch of certainty he did when he bought a low-rated stock that shot up within weeks; or when he intuited the right tactic to break through a target’s physical and psychological fortifications. 

“Highly unlikely he would trust a high percentage that deeply. But killing everyone who knows your name is a difficult feat that would leave a slew of killings. Even if you aren’t caught for a single one, those murders or disappearances go on records, people talk about them.”

“Exactly. Isn’t it more likely that he’s gone by his real name and built a reputation that diverts attention from it?” Fish leaned forward eagerly, but the postulative tone of her explanations was starting to niggle at him.

“Wait, is this all you have? Speculation?”

“Of course not! I’ve been investigating. There are 1,350 Londonium residents with the surname ‘Vale’. Assuming he lives in one of the neighborhoods his accent indicates he would, I can narrow it down to 900 - just thirty-six families.” Oswald sighed, growing tired of this long-winded explanation.

“I still hear more speculation than substance, Fish.”

“Patience, Oswald. This is where a loyal staff and a bit of luck comes into play.” She settled back into her seat. “Vale came here to my club to discuss some business a few months ago. He excused himself from our meeting for a few minutes to answer a phone call. One of my men overheard him and he told me that the call seemed personal, and that Vale mentioned the name ‘Vicki’.” She reached into her desk. “Now, as it happens, there’s only one ‘Vicki Vale’ in any of the neighborhoods I’d narrowed down.” She pulled out an old newspaper clipping featuring a story about a wealthy couple’s adoption of a baby girl. “The daughter of business tycoon John Vale. He started out in real estate before branching out into technological security solutions. He’s scored some noteworthy government contracts, but keeps a pretty low profile. No press conferences. No interviews on TV or internet platforms…”

“Well then. Now that is more substantial. But how does this knowledge actually aid you in deposing Vale? This is hardly the kind of evidence that would hold up in court, black-mail is never useful long-term, and I don’t see his henchmen abandoning him in droves…” Oswald trailed off, synapses firing like pop rocks. Verbalizing these problems ignited ideas for solutions. “...unless, by investigating his personal life you discover information that can be used to wage psychological warfare...”

“John Vale has a history of substance abuse, particularly cocaine, which he seems very insecure about. He adores his daughter, but his relationship with his wife is strained. A fact that almost put their adoption of darling baby Vicki in jeopardy. At preparatory school he was very popular until he was caught fooling around with the girlfriend of his best friend and cricket teammate. Incidentally, he was cut from the cricket team before the end of the season, probably due to the rest of the team freezing him out, which affected his performance.” 

“Well, those are a lot of vulnerabilities to milk. I assume the plan is to get a girl to seduce him, then casually mention she’s in a relationship with his right hand, then- ”

“Hold it. I definitely had a honey-pot plan in mind, but I hadn’t thought about connecting it to his henchman. This is why ’m still working on the plan. This is why I want to bring you on board. You’ve always had a mind for scheming. But before we get into details, I need to know you’re completely committed.”

“You want me to risk my life and career to aid you in a plan that isn’t even fully formed?” Her silence was her answer. “Even if I agreed, what do you suggest I tell Vale about his money? Do you at least plan to pay up so I don’t immediately have a target on my back?”

“I don’t have the funds to pay. That’s part of why I’m making a move against him. His taxes are too high. He’s bleeding me and my people dry. Any complaint is met with the insistence I ‘streamline my input costs’.” Fish’s tone was blasé and disparaging, but her thumb rubbed her middle finger in a way that revealed her inner stress. “This is a club, not Walmart. I need staff that are loyal and committed. I have to invest in them!” She snapped. Oswald had never seen her like this. She seemed defensive. He tried to return focus to the problem at hand.

“If I don’t give him the money you owe by tonight, I will blow all my credibility with him and I won’t be of any use to you or your plot.” He tried not to think about how quickly and easily he was climbing on board this rickety wagon; star in one hand, hitch in the other. 

“Don’t worry,” she drawled, composure returning, “you’ll give him his money, you just won’t get it from me.” She took a folder out of her desk and placed it between them. “I’ve had my men pull a few high-risk jobs to get cash to cover Vale’s taxes several times this past year. Butch has a plan for a local warehouse leased by the British Museum, and he needs someone who can fit through the ventilation shafts. With the right man, the plan can be executed tonight, we can sell it to a fence in the morning. You can get the money to Vale tomorrow.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“It won’t be difficult for him to believe it took me that long to crack. If anything, you should delay the drop further to sell the story.”

“That’s not the-” Oswald sputtered indignantly, “You want me to help Butch steal some old jugs in a mediocre heist? Like some common _thief_?” He spat. “Just for the chance to participate in your incredible accession plot? What do I even get out of this?” He fixed Fish with what he intended to be a blistering glare, but her expression did not disclose whether or not he had succeeded. 

“Oh come on, we both know Vale’s technocratic reign is dreary and uninspiring. You’ve advanced as far as you can without some fancy computer hacking abilities, and Vale offers little in a mentorship capacity. When I’m in charge, I’ll induct you into my inner circle. You can help run the underworld instead of just enforcing rules drafted by others. I know you aspire to be more than a grunt.”

Oswald peeked inside the folder and saw a blueprint that included a diagram of ventilation shafts.

“I cannot believe I’m even considering this. But…” He sighed, a part of him already memorizing the white lines on the blue papers. “Where would I fit in? Under your new world order?”

“Wherever you want to fit in.” Fish spread her hands accommodatingly. “I mean, the top spot is mine, obviously, but I’ll give you whatever position you desire.” 

This was the most reckless commitment he’d ever made, but he couldn’t resist the potential. “Fine. I’m in.”

They spent the rest of the day working on a master plan. Oswald was pleased to find Fish taking his input seriously and by evening he had made several contributions he was quite proud of. 

Around 8:30 pm, there was a knock from behind a wall-art installation. Fish reached under her desk and a moment later the art swung away from the wall, revealing a hole in the wall. Butch stuck his head out. Fish clapped her hands.

“Well then, it’s time to acquire some antiquities.” At her words, Oswald grabbed the folder and slid off his chair. Fish stuck out a hand, gesturing for him to stay put. “Before you go, we need to take steps to make your supposed 24+ hour interrogation convincing.” She held out her arms. “I know your M.O., lay some acid on me.” Unbidden, a gasp slipped from Oswald’s lips.

“Fish!”

“It’s what has to be done, and it’s a price I’m willing to pay.” She said. Oswald slowly retrieved the ammonia from his jacket. Fish wriggled her arms impatiently. “Aim for the forearms. I’ll wear long sleeves to imply further damage.” Fish gritted her teeth as Oswald raised the water gun. From his place in the wall, Butch grimaced in anticipation and turned his head away. Oswald took aim and fired a steam of ammonia across her left arm, from wrist to elbow. 

She remained impressively composed, but Oswald was surprised to feel a roiling in his own gut. He usually didn’t feel anything when hurting people this way. Stealing himself, he repeated the action on her right arm. The rotting-fish odor permeated the room. Fish coughed. Then, she shooed him away towards Butch. Butch turned and moved deeper into the hole, which Oswald could now see was a tunnel. He climbed inside and followed. Butch led him through a network of tunnels into an underground garage. There they got in what appeared to be a Londonium Cab, but he had a strong suspicion the license plate and taxi license were forged. Butch drove them to their target while Oswald memorized the blueprints for the ventilation shafts. 

When they arrived, Oswald donned his mask and Butch led him into a three-story office building next to a midsized warehouse. They traveled up to the roof where Butch set up his gear at the edge. Oswald was strapped into a bright orange harness, then Butch lowered him over the side like a rock climber. The wind whipped his hair and he braced his feet against the outside of the building. He focused on the rough surface beneath the soles of his feet and didn’t allow himself to glance down. He had never done anything like this before, and even without looking at the ground his stomach swooped at the drop he knew was beneath him. Below, a few pedestrians wandered the shadowy sidewalks. None of them seemed to be looking up enough to notice him. Too engrossed conversing with friends. Too focused on hurrying home, jackets wrapped tightly around hunched torsos. One girl was focused on a scrap of paper clutched in her hand. She stopped suddenly, head jerking up and twisting about as she scanned her surroundings. She turned towards him and stalled. She was too far away for Oswald to see her eyes, but he could tell her gaze had caught on him. Sticking to the plan, Oswald pushed down the panic that thrashed in his gut and smiled at her, throwing his arm up in a casual wave. She waved back, then returned her attention to her paper and began moving again, doubling back towards the intersection behind her. 

Butch continued to lower Oswald down. Once he was level with the roof of the warehouse he signaled to Butch to stop and hold him steady. Glancing over his shoulder at the warehouse roof, he braced his stubby legs against the office building and pushed off. But his legs were too short to produce much momentum and when he swung back to crash into the wall they were also too short to absorb the impact. Swallowing back a groan, Oswald steeled himself and tried again. He swung across the alley below him towards the warehouse, twisting backward, stretching to reach the edge of the other building. But his propulsion was still lacking and his arms were too short. He was sent crashing back, this time a whimper escaped his mouth as the wind was knocked out of him. 

On his third attempt, the edge of the roof hurtled within his grasp and he reached his fingers out, scrabbling to grab hold. But in the dark he didn’t see the bird repellent spikes and he felt pain splinter through his clutching fingers. He clenched his jaw to avoid crying out, pressing his bleeding left hand to his chest. Distracted by the pain he neglected to prepare for impact against the office building and his ankle twisted as his right foot took the brunt of the impact. Hissing as his nervous system was caught between the duel injuries, Oswald turned back to face the warehouse, fuming. He clumsily unbuckled his belt with his right hand. He refastened it into a loop, and gripped it firmly with his uninjured hand. His next attempt he reached out the belt and caught it on the spikes. Squeezing his eyes shut at the pain, Oswald used his left hand to pull himself up and grab onto the roof, this time careful to fit his fingers around the base of the spikes instead to avoid more damage. 

But as he hoisted himself high enough to get a better look at the rooftop, it was clear he wasn’t going to get up unscathed. There were gaps between the rows of spikes, but not quite enough to fit through. Fortunately, the roof had a slight curve to it that made it easier to climb onto. So Oswald angled his face into a gap between clumps of spikes, but as he wriggled his way forward, one spike dug into his shoulder and he felt blood bud around the edge of the metal. Gasping, openmouthed, he settled himself on the rooftop and leaned back until he was free of the spike. Rising to his feet, he shuffled sideways between the rows of spikes, pointedly ignoring how they tore at his knees and calves. Once he made it through and stood before empty roof, he unclipped himself and tossed the harness over the side for Butch to drag back up. Not wanting to leave behind any blood as evidence, Oswald used his tie as a makeshift bandage and sprayed the spikes heavily with bleach.

This high, there were few other buildings impeding the night wind and Oswald shivered in its chill as he made his way over to the exterior vent and worked it open. The shaft was small, even for him. He leaned down to crawl through it, wincing as the freezing metal biting his palms through his glove and makeshift bandage. But after a few minutes, he found it also gave him some relief from the pain in his left hand. The air was stuffy and even the smallest sound reverberated through the shaft causing Oswald to wince at every rustle of his clothing. He inched his way along, legs scrabbling to aid in his propulsion, but unused to this kind of exertion. Keeping the blueprints at the forefront of his mind, he turned left at the first juncture, then right at the one after it. Left, right, left, left, right. He followed the path until he was in the correct position. 

Through the grate he could see the security guard seated at his desk, watching a collage of CCTV feeds. He could feel the tie around his left hand beginning to grow moist, and knew he didn’t have much time to act before the blood soaked through leaving evidence he wouldn’t be able to get rid of. Keeping his breathing shallow, Oswald slowly reached into his pockets and took out a container of sleeping gas. He activated the can and set it carefully so that the smoke trickled down through the grate. His mask protected him from its effects, so he settled back and watched as the agent diffused into the room below. The guard slowly began to nod off, slumping to the side before snapping himself back to awareness. But within a few minutes he had succumbed and tipped off his chair to lie snoring on the floor. 

Oswald proceeded to pry off the grate and look for a way down., Peering through his mask as best he could, he spotted a filing cabinet not far beneath him and carefully slid out of the shaft to fall down onto it. Next he hopped down onto a desk, scrambled onto a chair, then landed on the floor. Despite breaking his journey down into these much smaller segments, none of which were farther than two feet, the impact had not been kind to his knees. Wincing through the pain, he hobbled over to the computer. After he checked to make sure there were no other guards on duty, he deactivated the security system. He ventured out of the room. Following what he remembered from the blue prints, he located the circuit breaker and flashed the exterior building lights to signal Butch. 

Oswald sighed in relief, the tension built up throughout the day dissipating in a heady rush. Oswald’s knees were still complaining at the ordeal he’d just put them through. His hand was still bleeding and he held it to ensure to blood spilled on the floor as his tie soaked through. Since his primary role in this heist was complete, he took his time walking to the exit. But despite the aches of his body, a thrill ran through him. He’d done it. It had been messy and painful, but he had broken into a secure facility and would now help make off with millions in ancient artifacts. Oswald’s mind was suddenly racing with ways to execute better plans in the future. He forced himself to rein in that train of thought. There wouldn’t be any plans in the future. This was a one-time scheme. He was an enforcer for Britain’s most powerful crime lord, plotting a coup that would promote him even higher. He was not some common thief.

Oswald found Butch in the parking lot loading boxes into the trunk and backseat. 

“Good work, Scipio. Now, let’s get out of here.” 

They spent the next few hours driving out of the city until they found a stretch of road far away from security cameras. Butch pulled over and changed the liscense plates. Oswald removed his mask and enjoyed the fresh air. Out here the air pollution of the city was absent and Oswald could smell the grass waving in the fields by the roadside. The blades damp with dew. By the time they arrived back at the garage, the sky had begun to lighten in preparation for dawn. Oswald headed back along the tunnel to Fish’s office while Butch went off to hand off the items to the Fence. 

When he arrived back in the burgundy room, he saw Fish had cut and bruised her limbs, presumably to further aid their ruse. 

“Took you long enough.” She stacked some paperwork she’d been going over into a neat pile. “Did you get all the items?”

“Butch is taking them to the Fence as we speak.”

“Good. While we wait for him to get back, help me keep up appearances.” she ordered. She placed her stack of papers into a drawer, which she then closed with a snap. “How do you convince the average uncooperative plebeian to fall in line?” 

Oswald swallowed and retrieved his spray bottle of bleach. 

“I mist them with this… But Fish, if there’s any ammonia left on your skin it could form chlorine gas. Not a deadly amount, but-”

“Would you care if I were one of your other targets?” Fish’s tone was not a querying one. Oswald found himself floundering. She took his silence as an answer. “Then do it. This needs to be convincing.” Oswald put back on his mask and began spritzing the liquid lightly over her forearms and below her knees. Then he raised the bottle to her face. He had to close his eyes to go through with it. But fortunately, the mask prevented Fish from seeing his cowardice. He heard Fish cough and his eyes flew back open. His stomach roiled at the sight of her irritated skin. He wondered how much more she was going to make him do. Fortunately, a knock sounded through the door followed by Butch’s voice.

“I got the money you asked for, Fish. And then some. Shall I bring it in?” 

“Yes, thank you Butch.” The door cracked open enough for Butch to squeeze his bulk through. He held a briefcase in one hand and a garment bag in the other. He kicked the door gently closed behind him and handed the briefcase to Oswald and the bag to Fish. She opened it and pulled out a long silk robe, which she wrapped around herself, and a floor-length fur coat which she put on over it. Wincing as the fabric rubbed and pressed against her burns, she walked Oswald to the door.

“Thank you for your cooperation Miss Mooney.” He spoke with as much authority as he could muster. “I’m glad you saw sense in the end.” He strode off down the hall and out the door, hoping his spastic nerves didn’t show. He checked the money in the briefcase before depositing it at the tree drop, wracked with a cold sweat the entire time. The enormity of the risk he was taking began to settle in his mind and he felt intensely vulnerable. 

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Oswald trudged back to the apartment, legs beginning to ache again from the day’s exertion. He made his way slowly to his door, reaching up to fit the key in the lock. His adrenaline had worn off and with the exhaustion hitting him full force, he fumbled a bit. Before he could properly undo the lock, the door flew open and Oswald found himself staring at an uncharacteristically disheveled Ed. 

“Oswald!” Ed’s volume made him jump. He had never heard Ed yell at him like this before. “Where have you been? You’ve been gone over thirty-three hours!” Ed lurched forward and enveloped Oswald in a hug. Oswald froze in surprise. Ed was muttering in his ear. Still badgering him about his prolonged absence, he found it difficult to concentrate on the words. He hadn’t been hugged in a very long time. His parents used to hug him all the time. But then his father died. And when his mother’s rituals became increasingly rigid during his senior year of college, physical contact between them was something she ceased to allow. Tentatively, he reached his arms up to reciprocate. They were too short to reach around Ed’s torso, so he contented himself with gripping onto the front of Ed’s shirt.

The only other time Oswald had been this close to Ed was when he carried him home after he was shot. His variable level of consciousness had prevented him from noticing any details then. But now, he couldn’t help but take note of how the discrepancy between their heights had caused Ed to bend in half in order to embrace him. How his embrace was firm but stiff and how his arms trembled slightly with his voice. Ed smelled faintly of coffee and the cheap polyester of his shirt rubbed against Oswald’s face. He wondered if there was a way for him to get Ed some better clothes in a way that didn’t come across as snobby or patronizing. 

After a minute or two, Ed pulled back, still rambling, and Oswald forced himself to pay attention to what he was saying.

“...you’re gone all night. I had no idea where you were or how to reach you. Your job is dangerous, so I am not being paranoid for worrying. But I also can’t call the police. But I also don’t know where to begin looking for you…” Ed’s hands flapped about anxiously as he spoke and Oswald observed his mussed hair and wrinkled shirt. As he stepped into the apartment he also noticed an obscene amount of pastries littered about. Lining the kitchen counters, spread across the stove, bunched on the coffee table by the sofa. Oswald’s mouth watered a little, but he also recognized that this was clearly another sign of the stress Ed had felt due to Oswald’s unexpected all-nighter. Tipping his head up to look Ed in the eye, Oswald gently raised his arms between them, palms out.

“I am terribly sorry I caused you to worry Ed. My work ended up running far later than I expected and after the past few years living here alone, I’m still not in the habit of updating a housemate of my whereabouts.” Ed had calmed down some, and wrapped his arms around himself. Oswald cautiously took a few steps forward and reached his arm up to gently grasp Ed’s elbow. “I promise, if it looks like a job is going to keep me overnight in the future, I will find a way to contact you.”

Ed nodded and moved to slump on the couch. He stared blankly into space for a moment, then his gaze seemed to focus on the pile of food in front of him. 

“Um.” He looked back at Oswald. “You want something to eat?” Oswald closed the door and walked over to the couch. Slipping off his jacket and gently setting it - and its acidic contents - on the floor next to the sofa arm, he sank into the cloth upholstery beside Ed.

“I am so hungry, you have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I wish I could blame it all on external factors. but the truth is this chapter really kicked my butt.
> 
> However, it's also extra long, so hopefully that helps make up for the long wait? A little?

**Author's Note:**

> There you go! As you can see, a bit more action than in previous fics in this series.
> 
> Londonium is in the DC Universe. Not a super original name, but it is canon.


End file.
